


Tough Love

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Next Generation, Injury, M/M, old fic, reposted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: James made a stupid bet and ended up badly hurt. His father has had enough.





	Tough Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for February's [JMDC](http://enchanted-jae.livejournal.com/1860103.html) Challenge for the prompt: bet/wager. This is really not my best work, but the prompt wouldn't leave me alone. My excuse is that I love next gen and I wanted to write Draco as a stern but good father. Also, I wanted to do a piece where parenting isn't always sunshine and roses. Sometimes, things get tough and parents need to lay down the law. Hopefully, that comes across here.

Speaking from a purely logical standpoint, Draco was fairly certain that he _must_ have been this angry sometime in the past. He had four children, after all. Being driven to fits of rage should be a second nature by now.

That being said, he couldn’t recall ever having experienced this combination of unbridled anger and mind numbing fear before—no, not even during the war. He replayed the last few hours in his head— the floo call, the way his very blood had chilled at McGonagall’s terse report, his heart plummeting and his head spinning. Now, standing here in the familiar Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, Draco abruptly decided that no, he had _never_ been this angry.

Ever.

For once, his brash, thoughtless brat of a boy was going to answer for it.

“A bet,” he repeated blandly. His voice was chilly—masking his seething fury in a parody on banal conversation. His fourteen year old seemed to shrink before his withering gaze. He curled into the narrow hospital bed as if fighting the urge to hide under the covers.

Not a chance. Draco wasn’t giving him any quarter today. This was why _he_ was the one to come rushing to Hogwarts when the Floo-call had come from McGonagall. Harry was borderline hysterical and halfway through the fireplace but in the end, Draco had managed to talk him into staying back somehow.

He intended to handle this one on his own and he had his reasons for it.

James had a...way with Harry. Perhaps it was because he was their first born. Perhaps it was because he was a Gryffindor and they were, in some ways almost the same person. Perhaps they had bonded over their shared love for those abysmal Cannons; Draco didn’t know and he didn’t care. The fact remained that Harry had a bit of a blind spot where their eldest was concerned.

James’ recklessness was _just a bit of fun, Draco_. The trouble he caused? _I’m told my father was the same way._ The sheer mayhem that followed the boy around was dismissed and shrugged off. _He’s like his grandfather. He’s just_ _like Sirius. He’s just a kid, Draco. You worry too much._

Enough was enough. This incident was the last straw as far as Draco was concerned. He loved his children dearly but he wasn’t blind to their faults.

Albus cheated to get an upper hand. Lily had a temper. Scorpius was impatient and lacked follow through when he didn’t see immediate results. And James...James was a reckless, _foolish_ boy who acted first, considered consequences later— if at all.

When Draco thought about what might have happened today...he didn’t even want to say it. Just thinking about it made his heart hammer in his chest again, well on the way to another panic attack. No, he was done with that spiel. His son was in _serious_ trouble and he wasn’t going to play the Gryffindor card. Not this time. Not with Draco.

When he spoke again, his voice was a low, livid hiss. “You mean to tell me that you put your family through four hours of sheer hell because of a bet with a _classmate_?”

James cringed and swiped a shaky hand over his face. He hadn’t said much since Draco had arrived. Actually, he hadn’t even looked at his father once during his mumbled explanation, choosing instead to address his sheets. Draco had a feeling that the gravity of the situation was sinking in. Good. He wasn’t letting the boy off the hook that easily though. “Answer me, James,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.

James took his time. “It wasn’t supposed to go wrong,” he whispered. “I’ve done the Wronski Feint before.”

Draco took a deep breath and focused on a bottle of Skele-Gro set out on the table. _No yelling_ , he reminded himself firmly. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t do that. He was here to teach James a lesson, not traumatise him. So he schooled his expression and turned back to his son again. “You do realise you’re not helping your case, don’t you?”

James bunched the sheet in his hands, looking agitated and a bit panicky. Draco could almost see him working things out in his head, trying to find a reason, a decent excuse for what he had done. “It was the first match of the season,” he blurted finally, his voice trembling a fraction. “I...I didn’t want to lose.”

_Not bloody good enough._

“Well, you’ll be happy to know you didn’t,” Draco replied coolly. “When you fell off your broom— a good twenty feet, by the way— Albus dove and tried to catch you. Of course by the time he made it to your side, you were in a hole in the ground with shattered ribs and a dislocated shoulder, but that’s hardly important. Rest assured, he didn’t catch the snitch so really, there’s _nothing_ to worry about.”

A bit harsh perhaps, but it got the job done. James flinched and his grip on the sheets tightened. “Father, please...”

“He was here for hours before you finally woke up,” Draco added relentlessly. It hurt him to do this but it was long overdue. Twenty feet, that was all he could think of. Twenty _fucking_ feet. “He missed all his classes today— Scorpius and Lily, too. They all seem to think it’s a big deal for some reason but of course, you know better don’t you, James?”

“I didn’t...I’m sorry, Father. Please...”

“Perhaps, I shouldn’t even mention what Dad and I went through when we were informed our _son_ was lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing. It’s hardly important. Just a minor inconvenience to you, I’m sure...”

“Stop!”

Draco halted his tirade.

There it was. That was what he had been looking for— an undertone of remorse in that anguished, trembling plea. Draco remained silent as James looked up at him, shaking violently. Despite his anger, his heart ached at the sight.

James looked like a little boy just then, with his messy hair and his eyes glistening with unshed tears— just like that time when he was six and had tripped and scraped his knee, when he hadn’t thought twice about running to Draco, wanting him to make it better. He managed a hitched sob and dropped his gaze, apparently unable to look Draco in the eye anymore.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he managed.

Draco’s anger evaporated with those two words. He knew James meant it. He knew James was sorry, that he was terrified of what could have come to pass and he knew that all James wanted right now was to be held and told it was okay. That Father loved him and forgave him and he would take care of it. He just didn’t know how to ask for it. He didn’t know if Draco would do that for him after what he’d put his family through.

Draco’s shoulders sagged as the last of his ire deflated. He approached the bed and his eyes softened as James shrank back, apparently expecting more harsh words. But Draco was done. He had made his point, loud and clear. What he needed to do now was take care of his son.

So he seated himself next to James and lifted a gentle hand to trace his cheek. Thankfully, James didn’t flinch from his touch. “Look at me,” Draco ordered quietly.

Teary, brown eyes stared up at him, tentative and scared. Draco’s throat clenched painfully. “Son,” he whispered gently. “ _What_ would I have done if something had happened to you?”

And just like that, the dam broke. James made a choked sound in his throat as he tried to stifle a sob, and then his shoulders were shaking violently and he was crying like the world has fallen to pieces around him.

Draco gathered him up at once, holding him close. James held on with a death grip, anchoring himself to Draco as the tears flowed on and on.

“I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered through his sobs. “So sorry, F-father. I d-didn’t mean to...”

“Shh,” Draco soothed, stroking his son’s hair gently. “It’s okay. Everything’s alright now, James. I promise.” His fingers ran through those brown locks as he spoke, gentle and reassuring. The motion was calming, like a balm for the ache in his heart. James was okay. James was safe. He was in Draco’s arms and he was going to be _fine_.

“My stupid, reckless boy,” Draco whispered fervently, holding him close but carefully— mindful of James’ injuries. “Thank Merlin you’re safe.”

James just tightened his grip and burrowed into his robes, letting Draco cradle him like an infant. That— more than anything— was a testament to how frightened he must be. For all that Gryffindor bravado, he was barely fourteen. He couldn’t possibly be alright after what he had just been through.

“Why did you do it?” Draco asked once James had calmed down a bit. “Why on earth would you make such a stupid wager?”

James stirred sleepily in his arms— slack and exhausted from his emotional outburst— but he didn’t answer. Draco jostled him gently. They needed to talk about this. “James, answer me please.”

James hid in his shoulder again. His voice was small when he finally spoke. “Connor s-said...he said Dad would have done it. He said Dad would’ve taken the bet.”

Draco bit his tongue, halting a forthcoming rant on how Dad had also fought an army of Dementors and flown circles around a dragon and would James like to take a crack at those while he was at it. Instead he took a measured tone, still petting his son gently as he spoke.

“I’ll admit your Dad has pulled a few stunts in his time,” he conceded, because honestly that _was_ a fair point. “But only because he had to. There is a world of difference between taking a chance because there is no other choice and doing something stupid just because. I’d like to think we taught you better than that.”

“I wanted Dad to be p-proud of me.”

“He is proud of you. He was proud of you _before_ you pulled this stupid stunt. And he was terrified for you today.”

“I’m sorry...”

“I know,” Draco cut in gently. “I know you are. But that’s not going to cut it this time. You scared your brothers and sister to death and you put your parents through the wringer. I’m afraid an apology is simply not enough. You owe this family more than that.”

“What should I do?” James asked shakily.

Draco tightened his grip reassuringly, but his next words were resolute. “For one thing, I’ve asked your Head of House to take you off the Quidditch team.”

“What?” James sat up and stared at him, eyes wide with shock. “But Father...”

“You’re not flying again this year,” Draco informed him firmly. “This is about trust and quite honestly, I don’t trust you not to put yourself in a similar situation again. I’d rather take your broom away than deal with something like this again. And yes, I did mean that literally. I _will_ be taking your broom away and no, you may not ask Dad to send it back. He agrees with me on this one.”

James looked like he might cry again. “Father, please,” he whimpered. “I _can’t_ sit out the rest of the season. Please, just give me one more chance. I’ll do better, I swear. Please, don’t...”

“I’m sorry.” Draco sighed softly and pulled James into his arms again. “I know it’s hard Jamie, but actions have consequences and unfortunately Dad and I have let yours slide for too long. This needs to happen and you know it.”

James sniffed but he didn’t pull away or make any more protests. “Guess I deserve it,” he mumbled.

Draco smiled and ruffled his hair reassuringly. “We’ll reconsider letting you join back next year,” he offered.

“Promise?”

“I promise we’ll think about it.”

James nodded his acquiescence and settled back in Draco’s shoulder. He felt small in Draco’s arms all of a sudden— young and frail with his bandaged ribs and a bruise under his eye. Draco tightened his grip as a surge of protectiveness threatened to overwhelm him.

“You will _never_ do something like this again,” he ordered, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Promise me.”

”I promise,” James said without a moment’s hesitation. He lifted his head to look at Draco uncertainly. “Are you still angry, Father?”

“Yes,” Draco replied flatly. James whimpered pitifully, tearing up again. Draco sighed in defeat and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “But it will pass.”

Clearly, Harry wasn’t the only one who had trouble saying _no_ to James. He really should work on that...

“Thank you for coming, Father,” James mumbled quietly into his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

...and apparently, it was never going to happen. Draco smiled and ruffled his hair gently. “I will always be there for you,” he promised. “Even if you are the most infuriating child I have ever come across. And I knew your Dad when he was your age so that is saying something.”

James managed a weak grin at that and curled into Draco’s embrace again. “Love you too,” he replied, stifling a yawn. “Will you be leaving soon?”

Draco went back to carding his hair, coaxing him back on the bed. “Soon,” he replied. “I should let Dad know you’re alright. But I’ll stay for a while if you want.”

James yawned again and closed his eyes, one hand reaching up to wrap itself in Draco’s robes. “Kay,” he mumbled sleepily. “Jus’ for a little while...”

Draco suppressed a smirk and stayed put, waiting until James was fast asleep. Then he disentangled himself, pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead and took his leave.

It had been a really trying day, but he was strangely content. Being a parent is tough even at the best of times— it’s Chapter One of the all purpose manual no one ever gives you. But he had a feeling he’d done okay by James. His boy would be alright. And if he wasn’t...well, Draco would be there. He would _always_ be there.

He was still taking that wretched broomstick though.

If James could stay out of the sodding Hospital Wing for the rest of the year, he could have it back by Christmas.

That was as far as Draco was willing to go on the subject.


End file.
